A Matter of Trust
by Punkin09
Summary: Dean's having trust issues with Sam, but on a hunt gone wrong everything changes. HurtSam. Set early season 5
1. Chapter 1

"What that hell, Dean!" The ground must have shaken at the force used to slam the motel room door. Sam had held it in long enough, for the entirety of the car ride back to be more specific, and quite frankly he'd wanted to yell sooner…but a car wreck was the last thing they needed now.

Dean had entered the room before him, shoulders hunched in that stand offish way and feet shuffling in a hurry, red light signals of a 'I don't want to talk so don't even open your freaking mouth' big brother. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Dean half turned, his wet boots squashing against the mustard colored carpet and his soaked leather jacket slapping against his jeans, "Sam-" As if the warning enough in his name would immediately cause him to stop.

"You almost got us both killed tonight, and you don't even care!" Sam closed the distance between them in only a few strides, chest tight in a mixture of panic and frustration which had been steadily growing over the last few hunts. "When I yell drop, you're supposed to fucking drop! You're the one who taught me that Dean! Not turn around and face it!" Sam was sure his face was red and as he yelled his eyes gauged his older brother for his reaction, trying to read him like he'd been able to his entire life. "I could've shot you! What you did was reckless and stupid!"

Silence fell over the room, but for the steady 'drip drip drip' of rain water running off their clothes and Sam's slightly heavy breathing. At last Dean glanced fleetingly up at Sam's face, expression stone like and ice cold. "You done?" After a few seconds, he turned away, but Sam stepped to catch up with him and cut him off.

"No! I'm not done; now tell me what the hell is going on with you!"

The vein in Dean's forehead bulged, and Sam knew this as a sign that his elder sibling was far angrier than he appeared, but if Sam hadn't learned already in the past twenty five years when to stop pushing than he certainly wasn't going to learn now. Dean drew in a breath, voice deep in controlled calm, "Sam, I'm warning you, drop it. Get out of my way."

"Since we've started back hunting you've been diving around like an idiot trying to do everything! I'm lucky if I even get to hold the salt, much less get a glimpse of whatever we're hunting! You find every excuse to put me out of the action and I've had it up to here wi-"

Apparently Dean had had enough of being lectured and before Sam knew it, angry hands were fisted in his jacket lapels, furious green orbs staring into his and a booming voice cutting him off, "Shut the hell up Sam! I'm doing the best I can, considering there's a freaking apocalypse going on outside our door!" Sam couldn't stop the flinch, feeling the underlying blame in that sentence. "All I'm doing is protecting myself on the hunt, there is nothing else going on so just leave me the hell alone!"

Sam forgot about trying to pry Dean's fingers loose and instead allowed the small abuse, not having the heart to risk any physical confrontation after the events leading up to Lilith's death. "God damn it, Dean! Since when do you 'protect yourself' on a hunt, we cover each other! It's what we've been doing since we were kids! Don't you trust me to have your back!"

Sam hadn't yelled like this in a long time, but if he didn't put a stop to this soon then they weren't going to live through the next for jobs. "NO SAM, I DON"T, OKAY?"

It was like the air was sucked from the room. He didn't even feel it when his back met the motel room wall, the plaster creaking ever so slightly. Sam's breathing hitched and the two brothers stared at each other for what seemed like forever, "D-don't what?"

Dean swallowed, but Sam could see the resignation in his eyes because he'd already said out loud what couldn't be taken back. The tightly curled fingers in Sam's jacket and shirt slowly released and Dean took a step back away from him. "Trust you to have my back…not anymore."

And just like that, like a flip had been switched, Sam had no fight in him anymore. He sagged back against the wallpaper, this time more for support. For a moment he felt Dean's eyes boring into him and he felt unbelievably small under the scrutiny. _Dean doesn't trust me…dean doesn't trust me._ Over and over again through his mind. And really, why was he so surprised? _God I really am an idiot, why would I expect him to after all the crap I've pulled?_

Distantly, he heard the squelching sound of Dean's wet boots retreating across the carpet followed by the sound of the bathroom door closing with a soft 'click'. Only when the air conditioner kicked in and Sam realized just how wet and miserable and cold he was did he at last move, feeling an eating, gnawing pit deep inside.

_TBC…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! I was so overwhelmed by the response I got from the first chapter **** So, since everyone is so awesome here's another update! Yay! I adored each and every review and I thank all who did! They made me smile. **** Any who, here's chapter two! Happy reading!**

**-Punkin**

It had been two weeks since the fight and Sam still couldn't sleep. This is why he hated motel rooms. They were just more of the same, everywhere they went. All they did was remind him of other sleepless nights after events in his life he'd rather forget spent staring up at an all too similar ceiling on an all too similar bed, the muffled sound of soft snores in his ears and the stray beams of headlights creeping through the cracks in the curtains into his eyes. He stopped himself from glancing over at his sleeping brother maybe for the thousandth time that night.

"_NO SAM, I DON'T, OKAY?"_

Sam shot up into a sitting position, throat tight and hands pushing frantically at the stupid scratchy sheets and the stupid frilly comforter. _I've gotta get out of here…_

It was like it'd become hard to breathe, the air surrounding the two brothers heavy, intent on slowly suffocating Sam as Dean stood by and watched. _Ha!_ And wasn't that just the best part? So typical Dean Winchester. Just blink open those crystal green eyes in the morning, throw out your arms to stretch and just jump out of bed and act like everything is just plain ole' fine and dandy.

It made Sam sick….and it was killing him.

Before when something like this had transpired between the two, there would be the small gestures of guilt. The tiny little signs that said "I'm sorry, but instead of just putting those two words together, I'm going to show you in my own little way". No…not this time. Because this Dean, well…this Dean was different. This wasn't the brave masquerading big brother with an unbreakable exterior that Dean had been in the months following his deal. This wasn't the drowning big brother still trying to put on a small show of courage in the months following hell. No…this was a different big brother. One in which wore a smile Sam had seen many times before, a smile directed at things Dean pretended to like…

He wasn't sure how he managed to scribble down anything the least intelligible on the note he left on the nightstand, his hands shaking and vision blurring, or how he managed to even get his feet to move one after the other. All Sam did know was that the lamp post he currently was leaning against was the one and only thing keeping him upright and that the crisp night air his lungs greedily pulled in felt just as heavy as it had in the motel room. _I don't know how much longer I can do this…_

It's a line that's been running through Sam's head his entire life.

But the only difference this time was that there was no genuinely optimistic, albeit annoying at times, Dean Winchester telling Sam to buck up and get his ass in gear because he'd be right behind him the whole time.

Drawing in a breath deep enough to make his ribs creak, Sam steeled himself, because god damn it if he broke down now. _Just gotta clear my head for a bit before I face him today…_And as he pushed off from the lamp post, surprised for a few seconds that his jello legs didn't fail him, Sam realized just how bad it'd gotten if he was at the point of mental preparation to simply start another day. _Brave new world,_ a last bitter, amusing thought.

He walked aimlessly really, for awhile anyway. But Sam didn't want to be gone too long, glad he at least left a note so as not to give Dean more reason not to trust him. His feet finally brought him into a small 24 hour convenience store, the aisles virtually empty and the lone cashier more or less asleep against the counter, even after the relatively loud 'jingle' of the door. Sam smiled softly to himself as he searched out a bag of peanut M and M's, hoping to at least nurse even the slightest of a real smile from his older brother's lips.

"Sam! Where the hell have you been?"

The door hadn't even shut behind Sam before Dean was literally in his face. For a moment he felt like a deer caught in the headlights. This had not been what he'd expected…he'd hoped Dean would still be obliviously snoring, with that one hand still resting under his pillow where he kept his weapon of choice.

"I-uh-just took a walk…needed the air…" Sam mumbled a bit, bringing his eyes down after he failed at holding the wide, fiery green gaze.

He heard Dean let out a heavy snort through his nose, a hand running through the short, blond hair, "Needed the air…well next time you decide to take off while I'm sleeping, wait till I'm awake!"

"I hoped you'd just sleep through it…and I left a note." Sam's voice rose to around its normal level, couldn't Dean at least be civil towards him anymore?

His older brother's eyes followed where Sam looked at the nightstand, clearly seeing the off white post it with Sam's scrawled hand writing on it. But Dean only gave it a fleeting glance before facing Sam once more, "Yeah, well, Bobby called. Says he's got a hunt for us. Told him we'd be there by tomorrow night so pack your shit."

Sam remained standing there a few more moments, _another hunt? He just doesn't stop…_

"… even listening? Sam!"

Sam blinked repeatedly as Dean appeared in front of him again; realizing his older brother had been talking but he hadn't heard a word. "Uh…what?"

Dean had clothes in his hands, his bag open on his bed while the drawers in the room where hanging open, items haphazardly strewn about. His eyes flared with impatience, eye brows rising as he appraised his younger sibling. "I said haul ass, man! We gotta get a move on." A moment's pause, "What's that?"

Sam looked down at the plastic bag still clasped in his right hand, but when he looked up again Dean was already moving, stuffing his belongings into his duffel without any form of organization. "Oh, I-um-got you some M and M's." The breath paused in Sam's chest, eyes glued to his older brother's half turned face. It was a silly attempt, he knew, to hope to bait the Dean he knew into appearing for even a few mere seconds.

But Dean didn't even look up, grunting in response. "Cool...throw it in the car. We'll be driving all night."

And so Sam resigned himself for another long, uncomfortable ride in the impala with a brother whose trust he no longer had. The air around them suddenly grew even heavier. He'd just have to try not to suffocate.

_TBC…_


	3. Chapter 3

**I was so excited when I read all the reviews! I thank everyone who responded and I am giving you all a giant virtual hug right now! I can't wait to really get into this story, don't worry the action is coming (along with the hurt Sam *wink*). But first, shall we check in with Bobby? Here's chapter three, happy reading!**

**-Punkin**

Bobby Singer was worried…to say the least. It had been weeks since he'd last heard from Dean, or Sam for that matter. But it seemed like now days the older Winchester was the only one ever on the phone, and that only happened when Bobby called first! _They're going to be the death of me…_

It was horrifyingly amusing and amazing to him the way those two boys seemed to forget things. Bobby had known them practically their entire lives. He'd seen them as hunters, the professionals they were, and he'd seen them at their best, the brothers they'd always be. He'd seen them smile, laugh, cry, and scream. Hell, he knew Sam and Dean Winchester better than they knew themselves…but he'd admit, not better than they knew each other. And Bobby Singer had seen them both when they've been utterly and completely broken, their eyes lost and dulled by grief. He'd seen them both at times of surrender, of no longer caring, about themselves or the rest of the world. Because Bobby had seen them both at their worst…and that was only at times when one did not have the other.

_How do they forget this so easily?_

When he finally heard the familiar rumble of the 67 Impala pulling up in front of the house, his relief was short lived. "Dear god…" He mumbled, wheeling himself out onto the porch to greet the two brothers. Sam looked horrible. Where Dean was out of the car in a flash, giving Bobby a friendly wave while making his way to the trunk, Sam was much slower to follow. Bobby eyed him closely, taking in the way the boy shakily stood, his movements lethargic and delayed.

Bobby frowned as he watched the scene play out before him. "Sam! Take your bag; I'm not carrying your crap for you."

Dean roughly tossed the duffle in Sam's direction, the younger man scrambling to catch it, swaying precariously on his own two feet. Bobby's frown deepened…Dean didn't even notice.

"So, Bobby! What're we dealin with here?"

They were gathered around Bobby's kitchen table, a map of Minnesota and several missing persons reports spread out in front of them. He leaned forward with his arms up on the table, pushing the papers away to get a better view of the map and his own messy handwriting scattered about in red marker. His gaze strayed up to where Sam leaned heavily against the counter, shadowed and bagged eyes down cast. It then moved on to Dean, not three feet away from Sam but seemingly totally oblivious. _Does he not realize something's off with the kid? I swear…it's like John's death all over again._

"You okay, Sam?" Bobby stared at him, concerned.

Dean frowned and looked up from the papers on Bobby's table, turning his head to glance at his younger sibling. Sam immediately looked up at Bobby, blinking his eyes as if emerging from a daze and the older man really got a good look at the unnatural pallor to his skin and the way his clothes hung as if he'd lost weight. But Sam smiled any way, his shining teeth not doing the least bit of good disguising his obvious misery. "Yeah, Bobby. I'm fine…just a bit tired."

Bobby's eye brows furrowed, fingers tightening on the arm rest of his wheel chair. Dean's soft snort of derision, however, brought his attention away from Sam. He looked over to discover the older Winchester once more looking down at the map on the table at the tail end of what could only be a maddening smirk. "Wouldn't be so tired if you'd sleep more instead of taking little 'midnight adventures'." Sam looked down again, swallowing visibly.

Had there been a time when he'd defend himself? And brotherly banter would ensue? Bobby wasn't sure what exactly was going on…but he was going to have to fix it…again.

When Dean asked yet one more time what they were dealing with, Bobby at last couldn't delay the poor anxious man any longer. He cleared his throat, "A friend of mine called the other day, a hunter, she'd been tracking a Wendigo in this area of northern Minnesota." Bobby pointed at the map, his index finger circling the wooded green area of the national forest. "But she got called away at the last minute, some deal about a vampire nest a few states over, and she asked if I'd find somebody to take care of it."

Dean beamed softly, a bit too excited for Bobby's liking, "Well I guess we're somebody, then."

Bobby studied him a moment, looking for a fleeting instant up at where Sam still leaned against the counter, practically transparent. Fighting yet another displeased frown, he continued, "It's basically the same thing you've dealt with before, nothing unusual or different. Campers disappearing every twenty or so years, like clockwork, she sent over the missing persons reports. Just too bad for these people there'd be nothing left to look for when it gets done with them."

Dean was still smiling, green orbs flicking over Bobby's notes. His hand smacked lightly against the chipped wood, "Finally, an easy in and out! Get to skip the research and everything."

Bobby would've smiled if it weren't for the way Dean seemed to be only talking to him and not his _and I quote "trusty, sidekick geek boy."_

He managed to convince Dean to stay the rest of the night and wait until morning before taking off again, and that if he was so antsy to get a move on then he could go into town and pick up all of his groceries. Boy did that have him grumbling the whole way out the door. Once Bobby heard the sound of the rumbling engine and scattering gravel, he turned towards the younger Winchester whom still appeared half dead on his own two legs. "You wanna tell me what the hell's going on?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey everyone! OH MY GOSH, thank you everyone who reviewed, you really inspire me, especially those whose stories I absolutely adore. Your feedback is so appreciated **** I meant to post this last night but I was just too busy haha. All I can say about this chapter is that Bobby is not a happy camper. Enjoy!**

**-Punkin**

Sam didn't realize just how heavily he was leaning against the counter until he pushed away from it, his knees buckling slightly as he scrambled to catch himself using the kitchen chair. Drawing in an unsteady breath, he swallowed, "Bobby…I really don't want to talk about it…"

He could feel the older man's incredulous, worried gaze, the rough voice calm and demanding, "Boy, you better sit down before you fall down."

Sam wasn't sure how Bobby managed it, but somehow the man in the wheelchair ushered him into the living room and the next thing he knew he was promptly collapsing onto the couch. He nervously wrung his hands, trying desperately to quell their trembles, his eyes refusing to focus quite right, causing his surroundings to blur and mesh together. Bobby's hand brushing lightly on his shoulder snapped him out of it, "Start talking, Sam. Now."

Sam sighed, dropping his gaze towards the floor, "Bobby-"

"Don't 'Bobby' me! Have you seen yourself lately, Sam? When was the last time you got any sleep? Or ate anything? Ah! Let me finish, boy." Sam swallowed his protest, his stomach tightening and twisting. The older man's voice lowered; face somber, "You look like crap, Sam. And if you don't start explaining to me what is going on between you that fool brother of yours than I can always ask him myself."

That immediately had Sam's head snapping up, eyes flashing wide, "NO!" Bobby blinked, surprised. "Please…don't talk to Dean about this…it'll only make things worse."

The older man's eyes softened, his head tilting down, forcing Sam to meet his gaze, "You and your brother are like a well oiled machine, you really think I wouldn't notice when something's not workin proper?"

Sam's molars dug into his tongue, the small pain enough to chase away the tears that so threatened his eyes. He let himself sink back into the couch. _God…I'm so tired._ He stared up at the ceiling a moment, hearing his voice crack in a way it'd only done a few times in his life, "He doesn't trust me anymore, Bobby."

Silence fell over the room, the distant sound of a bird chirping drifting lazily through the window. When Sam at last looked forward again he found Bobby's sad gaze simply staring, eyebrows furrowed slightly, "Aw, Sam…you know that's not true…"

Sam's throat tightened, shaking his head in adamancy, "It is true! You don't understand…he told me, Bobby. Told me to my face that he doesn't trust me anymore! And he…he's not the same and…and I." Sam shook his head again, finger nails digging into his skin, but he didn't notice, "I just don't know what to do."

He felt a hand gripping his arm and he greedily drew comfort from the touch, however small. "Did Dean tell it, Sam, or did he yell it? Because I can _tell_ you that there is a big difference between Dean Winchester saying something and Dean Winchester saying something when he's angry."

Oh and how Sam wanted to believe this. How he wanted to believe this _so_ badly because he knew it was true…but he also knew that this time it wasn't the case. Because he'd been staring right into his big brother's fiery green eyes when the words had left his mouth.

He'd been staring. Right. Into. Them.

And Sam had seen the truth resting there, the heart breaking conviction. "He meant it, Bobby." Sam whispered, the air doing that annoying heavy thing again as he struggled for a proper breath.

Sam could feel the older man's continuous sad gaze, and suddenly calloused hands were pushing him back until he was stretched out across the couch, his legs almost too long for it. "You need to get some sleep, Sam."

Sam was much too far gone to protest, the release of sleep calling to him. For a moment he remembered the way Dean would say 'everything will be better when you wake up' when Sam would be upset, and he was glad Bobby didn't say such a thing. Because this time he'd know it was a lie. And he might have imagined the fond fingers brushing across his hair before at last drifting off.

"Bobby, where's Sam?" The distant sound of voices at last aroused Sam from his sleep, his eyes blinking open up at Bobby's chipped living room ceiling. "Bobby! Where's Sam?" Again, the question repeated, the familiar sound of Dean's agitation ringing.

Sam's breathing stalled, listening. Bobby must have hesitated a second too long because his older brother was talking once more, "Damn it! Where is he, you've got to keep an eye on him, Bobby! You and I both know he can't be-"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Dean! And you best lower your voice because Sam is in the living room, _asleep!_ God knows the poor kid needs it." Sam's fingers dug into the couch cushions at Dean's words, eyes growing wet._ He doesn't even trust me enough to be left alone with Bobby for only a few hours? I really screwed up this time…_

The sound of their argument drifted in and out, Sam straining to listen, catching bits and pieces along the way. "…amn it, Dean….looked at him lately…exhausted…nearly collapsed…even talked to him…no, I mean actually talked Dean…how to, right?"

And then Dean's feeble but furious protests in between and Sam could imagine his face in his mind, fingers tugging slightly on his cropped hair while his right eye brow did that funny twitch thing when he yelled sometimes. Sam buried his face into the couch pillow, trying to drown out the fighting. He contemplated for a moment interrupting them, after all, they were arguing about _him._ But after one attempt of standing he decided against it. Defending himself, no matter how useless it was, wasn't worth falling and cracking his head open. That'd just piss Dean off some more.

_Now I dragged Bobby into this too…I should've just get my stupid mouth shut. Now I've messed everything up even more._

Sam had almost drifted off once more when there was the distinct slam of the front door slamming, so hard the couch shook a little. There was the sound of stomping feet, something falling over _a bottle?_ and then Bobby's voice drifting in saying for someone not to walk away from him. But then, in the brief moments of confusion as Sam desperately tried to focus, on anything really, Dean's face was in front of his, hands pulling him up. "Sam! Time to get up! We're leaving!"


	5. Chapter 5

**I was so excited by all the reviews that I got working on this chapter right when I got home! I am SOOOO thankful to each and every reader and reviewer! Things are so busy that I don't have time to respond individually but just know that they are each read and extremely, EXTREMELY appreciated. Haha. This chapter has been in my head a LONG time because I always like to write about how well the brothers know each other and depend on the other. And I always like to write about one brother through the eyes of the other. Happy reading!**

**-Punkin**

Sam had observed Dean his entire life. Not in the 'I've got to learn everything about this person' kind of way, but in the wide eyed, awestricken 'my big brother is the best person in the entire WORLD and I've got to be just like him' kind of way. So it wasn't just that he was probably the only person in the whole universe who really knew Dean, but it was _how_ he knew Dean. It was all in the little things that made his brother who he was from day to day. Not just on the hunts, not just when talking to other people, not just when hustling every arrogant bozo willing to line up at the bar. No, it was in the way that Sam knew things about Dean that he himself probably didn't notice.

Like the way his older brother would sometimes brush his teeth in the shower just to find an excuse to take even more of the hot water, or the way he'd spin the metal tabs around and around on soda cans until they broke off, or even how after having a bad dream he'd always like to have the tv on when he went back to sleep.

Sam knew all of these things about Dean. He knew that when Dean was really _really_ bored while Sam was doing research, he'd chew on the closest pen cap he could find, or doodle pictures of his favorite album covers on the motel room note pad. Sam knew that when Dean was particularly worried about something he'd close his hand around the amulet Sam had given him that one bitter sweet Christmas long ago while his other hand would rub absently on the back of his neck. He knew things like how Dean would roll down the windows when they were stuck in miles worth of traffic and howl along with his favorite songs extremely loud just to annoy and embarrass Sam, and how Dean would always glance at the sky right before getting in the Impala, maybe praying to a god he still didn't quite believe in.

Sam knew Dean backwards and forwards, so well that working and living with the man had mostly been as easy as breathing. Easy because Sam could tell just by the way his brother sneezed or gripped the steering wheel how he was feeling, and he could tell just by a peak into his brother's green eyes what he was thinking.

But right now, hell, the past few months…well, Sam didn't know anything.

Because everything that made his brother Dean seemed to only function under the pretense that he trusted his little brother with his life. And now Sam couldn't read him, couldn't tell what was going through his head, couldn't tell what it was his older sibling needed!

And it was like all of sudden Sam was realizing that everything that made himself Sam seemed to only function under the pretense that he had his older brother's trust.

So confused and turned around, he knew, they both were. And at this point the only thing he _did_ know was that this lack of confidence, lack of trust, was destroying them both.

"Dean…you should really answer Bobby's calls."

Dean's nostrils flared, eyes flickering towards where his phone sat, the screen flashing '3 missed calls' like a neon sign in the dim lighting. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass."

Sam sighed, struggling to find a comfortable position, the black leather of the Impala squeaking. He'd always felt cramped when sitting in the passenger seat and especially hated it when he tried to sleep in it. But if Dean was so set on once again diving into this hunt than Sam was going to have to catch a few hours of rest, because otherwise he wasn't sure if he could do it. And there was NO WAY he was letting his older brother go traipsing off into the woods alone.

The flight from Bobby's had been kind of a blur. Dean had practically dragged him to the car, face red in anger, the ring on his finger digging into the skin on Sam's arm. He remembered Bobby's stricken facial expression, worried eyes watching them even after Sam gave a reassuring smile, hoping his eyes said 'Thanks for trying' and 'I'll be fine' at the same time. The older man begged Dean to stay, but Sam didn't think he even got half way through the word 'please' before his brother was slamming on the accelerator, knuckles white in a tight grip. There's one emotion Sam could still read at least.

"Dean, if you don't answer now, than how is he supposed to know something's wrong if you don't answer later?" Sam didn't even know why he was really trying, but it was an old habit to attempt to make his older brother think logically. Though he'd been completely lacking logic for a while now.

Dean's eyes stayed glued on the road ahead of them, the speedometer needle shifting upwards. "You know…I cannot _believe_ you fucking whined to Bobby about this!"

Sam's fingers dug into the fabric of his jeans, _here we go._

Dean continued onward after Sam didn't make a move to say anything, "You know what, I do believe it. It's so typical, Sam! For you to bitch and moan to the closest person you can find the second I leave the room!" Sam was surprised his brother wasn't getting whip lash the way he was snapping his head back and forth between glaring at Sam and looking at the road.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, _ugh, I can't deal with this right now._ "Dean…"

"I don't want to hear it, Sam! So just…please, don't say anything! For once!" And Jesus, it was the only sentence the whole time without profanity but the spitting tone had Sam helplessly scrambling for a happy thought.

He wasn't sure how he managed it, but somewhere between Dean's Metallica tape and Led zeppelin tape, he drifted off with his cheek resting against the chilly window and hands buried deep in his jacket pocket, trying to figure out where and when exactly everything had gone to hell.

But the next thing he knew, a rough and familiar hand was gripping his shoulder, shaking him from dreams of a readable big brother who used to laugh far more than he yelled. "SAM! Wake up! We're here!"

For a moment, Sam stared at their surroundings in confusion, eyes taking in the massive, towering trees stretching out towards their right, "Wait…what? We're not getting a motel?"

There was the creak of the Impala's door, Dean's boots scraping against the ground. "We don't have time for a motel, _Sam._ We know what we're dealing with, we know where it is, and we know how to kill it. You want more blood on your hands knowing you could've stopped it instead of taking another nap, princess?"

This time, Sam just couldn't stop the flinch.


	6. Chapter 6

**Well folks, since I've spent the past five chapters torturing you by building things up when I know all you really want is your hurt Sam *wink*, I finally decided it was time to get this chapter written. Lol I thank all who reviewed, read, or added this story to alert or their favorite stories. So now, let me welcome you to the start of the action. Happy reading!**

**-Punkin **

"Dean, don't you think we should bring more than two flares?" Dean had been steadily stuffing weapons into one of their small duffle bags, movements jerky and uncontrolled. For a moment Sam just wanted to step back and watch the anger ridden hunter in his natural habitat, that biting worry settling at the back of his throat in the 'desperately want to say' category.

"Well we only really need one if we make our shots count. Would you pass me the flashlight?"

Sam stifled an annoyed sigh, obediently handing it over, "And what about the first aid kit? Who knows how deep into the woods we'll have to hike, if something happens…" But Sam didn't even get to finish because he was hastily pulling his hands away to avoid them being smashed by the trunk closing.

"We don't need the first aid kit, Sam! For the last time, it's an easy in and out, nothing will happen!" And then he was turning away from Sam, pulling out the papers Bobby's hunter friend had sent over, along with a map he'd snagged of the hiking trails.

_God damn it, Dean!_ Sam was so sick of this and he was not going to stand by and watch as his brother's tactics got them both slaughtered on some obscure side job while they had bigger fish to fry. "I've had it up to here with this Dean!" His hand rising to level with his face, "You're being ridiculous!"

Before Dean could make a move though, Sam slid the papers he just found oh so interesting away from his older brother, ignoring the way his hands fisted and eyes burned with warning. Keeping his hand on them, he forced himself to stare down into Dean's face, "Look, I know you don't trust me, and I get it! And I now there's nothing that I can do or say to change that! But what you're doing, Dean, has got to stop!" Dean's mouth opened a few times as if he wanted to interrupt Sam, but Sam was most certainly not giving him the chance to cut him down before he put his two cents in. "You and I both know that there is no such thing as an easy hunt! And we both know that there's no excuse to go in half assed!"

Sam drew in a huge breath, staring wide eyed back at Dean. For several moments of complete and utter silence that's all they did…stare…stare…stare…and then Sam looked away first. Because Dean's face hadn't changed at all and Sam knew that he'd already lost this one and _when did everything get so dizzy?_

Finally, Dean swallowed, jaws clenching as he breathed through his nose, "Can you move your hand?"

Sam glanced over, blinking at the older man before moving out of the way in defeat, but when his brother hesitated, like there was something he wanted to say, Sam managed to catch his first glimpse at the older sibling he'd known so well his entire life. He managed to catch the first traces of something closely related to regret leaking through the stone hard exterior that had become Dean Winchester.

And if there was one thing that Sam Winchester was good at, it was picking his battles. So maybe there was still hope if he could coax his brother back into existence. Dean cleared his throat, voice tight in a gruff tone used to disguise emotion, "Uh…Bobby said the first group of campers disappeared from their site set up towards the west here." Sam's eyes followed where Dean pointed, "And the second group disappeared towards the east, and finally a few days ago another group disappeared at the south end, just a few miles in that way." He nodded towards the trees in front of them.

And there it was…that small rush obtained from doing that certain something you've done your entire life, that certain something you're good at. "So you think it's circling? That its lair is somewhere in the middle of these three campsites?"

A tiny smile tugged at the edge of Dean's lips, shadowed eyes darting across the map with calculated experience. "That's exactly what I'm thinking." Looking up at Sam, he swung the duffle over his shoulder, the straps biting into his leather jacket, "Let's go, then!"

Sam trudged closely behind his bother for most of the journey, trying desperately to disregard the eating feeling that something bad was just waiting to happen. Last year, he'd have no problem what so ever voicing his doubts, because then he knew they'd at least be acknowledged. But now he knew Dean would just ignore him. He just prayed that even though he knew his older brother didn't trust him, he'd not put himself into a dangerous position because of it, like he'd been doing.

Darkness was quickly settling, the sun's rays still peaking out over the trees and spilling like puddles onto the forest floor. Sam turned the map over in his hands, reading the descriptions of each marked trail and 'observation' sites, scratching off improbable locations with his pen. It was hard to follow his brother and do this at the same time, and if he had just waited a bit longer than Sam could have had a an even better estimate to wherever this freaking Wendigo was hiding out.

That is…if it wasn't already watching them.

They _were_ in its territory.

For the hundredth time, Sam's eyes combed the trees around them, searching for signs, because that feeling in his gut was certainly not because he hadn't eaten properly for awhile. For the most part anyway.

"Dean, wait!" His brother pulled up short, turning with raised eye brows.

Sam stepped up next to him, pointing at the map and his writing. "Look at this, there's a marked lookout spot where there are bluffs almost directly in the center of all the attacks. I'll bet you anything it's holed up somewhere in those rocks!"

And damn it, maybe if he'd just been paying closer attention he'd have heard it sooner. Because the words hadn't even left his mouth before there was the ominous cracking of branches, leaves shifting, and everything became a blur.

The next thing he knew, sharp claws were digging into his shoulder and he and his older brother were rolling across the ground. His back met with the base of a tree, unforgiving bark digging into his skin and jarring his ribs. Distantly, as black dots drifted across his vision, he heard Dean yelling unintelligibly, something red and plastic thrown in his direction.

_Flare gun!_

And then there was another whoosh of air, a powerful swiping and hideous arm flinging it away, at the same time slicing down Sam's arm like it was butter.

Adrenaline pumping, full on fight mode in action, he took no notice and instead kicked out with his legs, allowing a grim moment of satisfaction at the displeased shriek.

There was a distinctive _boom, _a small ball of flames shooting across towards him, forcing Sam to hit the ground, shoulder screaming in protest. But the Wendigo was already on the move, out of the flare's path before it was even a threat, leaving it to hit the tree where Sam's head had been only a few mere seconds before.

_Jesus! Thanks for the warning, Dean!_

Speaking of Dean…

Sam scrambled up onto his hands and knees, body burning from the pain, forcing eyes that wouldn't focus to work. His brother dropped the empty shell of the wasted flare, green orbs that had been so sure only an hour before that this would go off without a hitch now burning with fear and desperation. And then Dean was diving, crawling for the gun that had been knocked away from Sam, blood dripping down the side of his face from a cut along his hairline.

And as Sam at last managed to get his feet beneath him, barely able to take in anything at all, he knew what was going to happen. Even as his brother reached for the piece of plastic nestled in the wet leaves Sam knew he wasn't going to be fast enough.

And this heart stopping revelation had his legs moving faster than he knew possible, launching himself at his brother because that thing was _pissed_ and it wasn't charging in to deliver a love tap.

For a moment, he thought he wasn't going to make it, but then time sped up, gravity pulled him rapidly against his older brother, and then he was pushing Dean with a force he didn't know he possessed out of the way and safe from the oncoming danger.

But white hot fire coursed across his abdomen as razor like claws slashed, a scream echoing and bouncing off the tree trunks, _was that me?_ and then darkness rushed to meet him before he was even done falling.


	7. Chapter 7

** Haha after reading reviews that practically begged for an update, I just couldn't let more than day go by. I know several people have mentioned how much of an ass Dean is being, but just know this story isn't meant to hate on him because I love both Dean and Sam. He's hurting in his own way too, but we've just been reading from Sam's point of view, so maybe this chapter will give you a better insight to the older Winchester. Thanks SO MUCH to all reviewers! You are why I keep writing. Happy reading!**

** -Punkin**

Dean Winchester liked to think of himself as a pretty forgiving person. Sure, after the expected amount of time of brooding, silent treatment, or snapping monosyllabic answers, he was forgiving.

Mostly.

So what if he held grudges like a maltreated child waiting and planning out its revenge in sick obsession. So what if he squirreled away every misdeed done to him and then maybe brought it up in times of argument. He _was_ human, after all. And as far as Dean was concerned, he was pretty damn tolerant.

But this time…it was different. This time there was no 'expected' amount of time before everything could just be hunky dory again. Because this time, his little brother had thrown Dean so far off track he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to find his way back. Nothing in the world could have prepared him, not his father's cruel hospital warning, not Sam's drunken pleas to 'kill him' as if it was such an easy thing to think about, not even Castiel's cool calm 'your brother is heading down a dark road'.

Yadda yadda…same old story, heard it a thousand times.

Until it was like Dean blinked, woke up one morning, and then suddenly he was locking Sam in the panic room and delivering an ultimatum that he'd never forgiven his father for giving his little brother. What? You never seen a hypocrite before?

He wasn't sure what he'd expected from Sam…but it certainly wasn't this. Because Dean was done being 'tolerant.'

There were few people Dean trusted completely. His father, Bobby…and Sam. And for someone who placed their trust in so few people, he'd been let down too many times. He'd taken his brother back, of course, because god damn it, he loved that kid.

But it was just so hard…

Facing that patented puppy dog gaze every day, the eyes staring at him like they were waiting for something. Something that Dean just couldn't give. Because, though he'd never admit it, Dean was still trying to put his heart back together, and that was going to take time.

And Dean wasn't blind…he saw what this was doing to Sam. But maybe a part of him wanted his little brother to hurt like he hurt, to feel like he had felt, still feels even, because this time he wasn't going to so readily disregard his pain to make Sam feel better.

Boy, what a mistake.

The first thing that Dean became aware of was the pounding ache radiating through his skull and lacing around his eyes, the nose wrinkling copper scent filling his nostrils and mouth. _Geez…how much did I drink last night?_ Was his first disconnected thought. That is, until he managed to get his eye lids working properly, sunshine too bright for a concussion leaving him near blinded.

Dean blinked several times, taking in the spiraling, leaf covered branches above him, pieces of visible blue sky scattered in holes around the tree tops. That's when he became aware of the sticky feeling on his right hand; currently laying sprawled out away from him. And when Dean at last managed to remember how to move at all, he found himself staring at fingers covered in thick, congealing blood. _What the hell?_

For a moment, his vision grayed around the edges, breathing picking up as he struggled to pull himself off the ground.

_Flash…the feel of his head bashing against something rough and hard. Tree?_

Dean leaned backwards, feet not working properly, voice no better.

_Flash… "Sam, catch!" Tossing his struggling and unarmed little brother the flare gun._

Sam! Where was he? Tongue thick, throat scratchy, "S-Sam?" Only a whisper. Memories of the night before flooding and bombarding his too confused mind.

_Flash…the dark shadow of the Wendigo, empty and still warm flare in his hand._

And there it was…the plastic resting not five feet away, the tree he'd shot black and angry looking.

_Flash…knees digging into the mud as he reached for their last hope, hearing the thing approaching. Not going to make it, not going to make it…and then something crashing into him, a body solid and warm._

Finally, Dean forced his feet to support him, surroundings blurring in and out, fingers digging into bark for support. That's when he saw the splattered blood across the forest floor…way too much to have come from his head injury…way too much for a superficial wound.

_Flash…slamming into darkness…but not before his ears rang with a familiar, heart wrenching scream._

And all at once…Dean found his voice, "SAMMY!"

'Drip…drip…drip…drip'.

As Sam opened his eyes, the only thing that he could think of was that he was in some deep shit.

Though he couldn't quite look directly down at himself due to the trifling issue that his arms were stretched up above his head, wrists tied together…he wasn't sure he wanted to. Icy hot fire seemed to course through his veins, concentrating around his abdomen where that _stupid freak of nature_ had raked and torn with its _stupid freak of nature claws. _And god, he didn't know something could hurt so badly!

Bile climbed up his throat, but after several attempts he managed to swallow it back down, not sure how he'd have anything to throw up anyway. His stomach flipped and turned as the cavern around him performed rapid somersaults and flips, the rank smell of death and decay assaulting Sam's open mouth and nose. The scratches on the back of his right shoulder had reopened when that Wendigo had tied him up like an animal getting ready to be slaughtered.

_Well I guess that's basically what I am right now…lunch…hopefully not breakfast._

He could feel warm blood steadily sliding nauseatingly across his skin, trickling down his bare back and stomach in small rivulets and soaking into his jeans

And that's when he realized just what that dripping noise was. _Shit. I'm going to bleed out before that thing even comes back._

Letting his eyes flutter close for an instant, Sam tried to control the small tremors running through his body, fingers tightening and pulling on the ropes that held him captive. His wrists screamed at him, shoulder even louder, but maybe, just maybe, he could eventually break loose.

After all, Dean was still out there, probably pissed out of his mind, but still…and they still had one flare left.

Stifling any stray whimpers or cries, he breathed deeply, _control the pain…control the pain…control. The. Pain._

He was glad he did it…he didn't regret saving his brother, because contrary to whatever Dean had been thinking of late, Sam still loved him…and truly did have his best interest at heart even in the midst of completely screwing things up. _I just hope wherever you are, you're okay,_


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey, everyone! Thanks so much to all reviewers, and people who added me to alert! You are the reason I keep writing! In this chapter, we finally get a taste of the guilty Dean I know you all have been waiting for lol, I hope it doesn't disappoint because that man has A LOT of ground to cover when it comes to apologizing in the coming chapters. Happy reading! Oh, and p.s. an extra thank you to J-Bird2006 for adding this story to the hurt Sam community. **

**-Punkin**

_Shit Shit Shit! This can't be happening this can't be happening this can't be happening this CAN NOT be happening!_

Dean's eyes burned, hands scrambling desperately at the soggy, torn, and blood spattered map, the same one Sam had practically been waving in his face seconds before the attack….

_No no no no no no no! FOCUS, Dean, focus!_

"Okay, okay…I got this." But trembles worked their way through his body, dried blood cracking and flaking from his hands. _What was Sam saying before? Bluffs? Rocks? God damn it, think! _

And god…Dean had forgotten what this felt like.

The heart stopping fear…the way he couldn't breathe…the tears that were just so hard to control. And didn't he just feel like an idiot all of a sudden? _Good job, Dean, you happy now? Huh? You proven your fucking point yet now that your little brother's off somewhere in the middle of fucking nowhere land, bleeding like a stuck pig? Proud of yourself?_

He wasn't sure how long he'd expected to stay up on his high horse…but he certainly hadn't expected it to buck him off this hard. All the sorry excuses that passed as conversations between the two, all the arguments, cruel words, and silences meant to break..._why? What the hell is wrong with me?_

The world spun around him, Sam's girly handwriting fuzzy through his stupid watery eyes that refused to stay dry. He tugged clumsily at his discarded duffle, heart beat pounding in his ears like an annoying bass drum. _Come on, come on, where is it!_ And then he was pulling his sleek, silver cell phone out, because if there was ever a time when he needed help, it was now!

"Damn it!" He growled. No signal, the battery already low from constantly searching.

_Flash… "I'll bet you anything it's holed up somewhere in those rocks."_

Drawing in a huge lungful of air, Dean steadied himself, the foggy memory of his younger brother's eager eyes and pointing finger slowly coming back. He snatched the map up again, immediately pin pointing the small circled area with several connecting trails. _Way to go, Sam…always one step ahead of me._

Haphazardly retrieving their scattered belongings, he held their last flare gun close, guilt creeping and eating at his insides. _"Don't you think we should bring more than two flares?...what about the first aid kit?...no excuse to go in half assed!"_

Dean's eyes fluttered close for a moment, when was it that he just stopped listening? Stopped seeing? When was it that the one person he'd totally sworn and devoted himself to was just pushed aside?

_Because I'm a stubborn bastard…that's why._

And suddenly, the blood caked beneath his nails that he knew was not his own seemed to burn and sting, and no matter how much Dean wiped his hands on his jeans or scratched too hard, he could not remove the red stain of his failure.

"I'm coming Sammy…just hold on."

888

"_Sam, come on, man, what's wrong?"_

"_I'm sorry Dean…you trusted me with the car and..and I screwed it up!"_

"_Aw, Sammy, you know that's not your fault. I was standing right there when it happened; there was no way to avoid it."_

"_I know…but I really didn't want to let you down this time, and now's there a dent in the Impala."_

"_Hardly, Sammy, you can't even tell from a distance. Oh come on, don't look at me like that. I still trust you with the car."_

"_Really?"_

"_Look, no matter what you do, I'll always trust you, okay? We've got each other's back, just like always."_

"_You say that now, Dean…"_

"_And I'll say it later, I promise. What? Don't you trust me?"_

"_Yeah, of course I do."_

"_Good...now that that's settled, I think I trust you enough to tell what Dad what happened."_

"_Jerk."_

"_Bitch."_

Sam's eyes shot open, breathing labored, gasping as skin expanded and waves of agony rippled throughout his body. The memory seemed like SO long ago, almost made up even, but it brought with it a sense of pain the no weapon could ever mimic. _Damn it, I passed out again._ His wrists were raw and slippery with blood, but the ropes were loosening…or at least they had been before he jerked so hard that his vision had gone white and then everything had abruptly turned black. Shivers racked their way across him, teeth clenching and digging into the inside of his cheek. _Come on, Sam, you can do this. You can do this._

He had to get out of here…he had to help his brother! But god…he was just so tired, _when did it get so cold in here?_

Which really didn't make sense because he could fell sweat slide down his face, the taste of salt as it dripped against the side of his mouth and off his nose. Sam shivered again, pulling slightly at his restraints and unable to quell the small, desperate cry. _I am not dying in here. I AM NOT._

But when he heard the distant sound of crumbling rock, and a short, angry growl…Sam second guessed himself. _Where are you, Dean?_

888

Bobby Singer slammed his phone down on the table. He wasn't sure why he kept calling even after Sam and Dean hadn't answered the first hundred times.

But he had THAT feeling.

The one he got when nothing good was happening. _Damn you, Dean!_ Okay, so maybe he could've handled the situation a bit better, because Bobby of all people knew that that boy didn't respond well to being told what to do, unless it was from John of course. That sure did have him rolling his eyes.

But couldn't Dean see it? Couldn't Dean have used his head for even a few seconds and evaluated just what he was doing? Just what he was risking? And god damn it, Bobby wished yet one more time he could stand up out of his stupid chair and track them down, he just felt so useless!

His fingers tapped against his kitchen table, eyes shooting to the clock. Something was definitely wrong! _I knew this would happen…I knew it._

He growled deep in his throat, snatching his phone up and pressing speed dial one yet again. "_Hey, this is Dean, leave a-"_

Bobby hung up, cursing in a way that'd put a sailor to shame. _What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?_

Sighing, because he knew he'd reached his last resort, he put the cell to his ear once more, so anxious he began counting the rings. There was the muffled sound of frantic movement, then the 'beeping' of several buttons being pushed, and finally, _"Uh…hello?"_

Bobby closed his eyes in relief, "Castiel! Listen, we've got a problem…"


	9. Chapter 9

** Hello everyone! Yay! We've broken the 100 review mark! This is me giving my readers the biggest virtual hug and kiss ever! Haha Thanks SO much everybody! And I'm really happy so many people are enjoying this story, hopefully I will continue to please you *smile*. Anyway, when I heard these lines in a song I was listening to, I immediately thought of Sam, so I thought I'd share them with you. *excitedly claps hands***

_**And death is at your doorstep**_

_**And it will steal your innocence**_

_**But it will not steal your substance**_

_**But you are not alone in this**_

_**And you are not alone in this**_

_**As brothers we will stand and I'll hold your hand**_

_**-Timshel by Mumford and Sons**_

Dean Winchester had a problem when it came to making promises he couldn't keep. Sure, everybody spouts at some point in their life a bunch of nothing words meant to please and calm. But it seemed to him that whenever he dared to utter 'I promise', everything that followed was just that…nothing words.

Dean usually prided himself in being able to tell the difference between times when those he loved needed a comforting lie and a pat on the back, and times when those he loved needed an honest reassurance and an encouraging pep talk. But he'd just gone and screwed that up, now hadn't he?

_"As long as I'm around nothing bad is gonna happen to you."_

Dean scoffed.

Nothing words.

Because it's not that he hadn't meant it…but he'd completely mixed up comforting lie and honest reassurance. Because it wasn't just that bad things always happened to them, with Dean within feet of his brother most of the occasions, but it was the fact that Dean had become the sudden reason his little brother was in trouble.

And the faster his feet pounded against the forest floor…the more distraught he became. Something had been off ever since he'd woken up, that deep, dark feeling eating him inside where it counts. He didn't want to believe, of course…but Dean knew it was true.

_He_ should be the one strung up somewhere.

That thing had been coming at _him._

But something had pushed him out of the way…his little brother. The same little brother that had been told right to his face that he couldn't be trusted, the same little brother he'd ranted and raved at, the same little brother whom he'd practically been towing like luggage because _god damn it_ he'd have to face his feelings if he looked at him as anything more.

And _why?_ _Why didn't I listen? Why? Why? Why?_

Hindsight's a bitch.

And boy, didn't the Winchesters practically live by that line? Because Sam had been living an apology ever since their eyes had met over Ruby's fallen body, the deceptive light of Lucifer's cage spilling against their skin. Because Dean had been steadily withdrawing so far into himself that his entire world had become tunnel vision, and he didn't even know what he'd been looking at. Because they'd been played and used, beaten and crushed, swindled and tricked, even abandoned and discarded. Because even after all of that, after all they'd been through…Dean had been so ready to give up.

Because it was easier for him to be angry, and harder for him to cry.

_No more…_he thought furiously. _Time to make good on some broken promises._

999

Sam stiffened, breath pausing in his rattling lungs, eyes shooting upward in the direction of the Wendigo. He gasped lightly as he moved too fast, vision swirling in a mixture of black, white, and stark red, heart beat thrumming in his ears and pounding against his skull. _Stay awake…got to stay awake._

And then he was blinking into a hideous, disfigured face, one in which that had less human qualities than some creatures Sam had seen that didn't have human origins. He flinched, jerking back and away, the toes of his shoes scraping against uneven rock, his shredded wrists slipping and pulling.

The giant being snarled softly, long, sharp, slicing claws gripping his biceps in a horrible mockery of actual hands and fingers. Dark and hollow pits stared down into him, animal like pupils screaming _hungry hungry hungry_, sharp uneven teeth peaking from beneath turned lips.

Sam's struggles increased, warm blood sliding, fingers burning and that one word his entire being _no no no no no no no no no no no no._

The Wendigo shrieked softly when Sam kicked out, feet scrambling for purchase, heart beat erratic because _Dean, god damn it, GET HERE!_

Rancid, hot breath blew in his face, teeth ever so slowly descended, and rough, jagged skin brushed none too lightly against his burning abdomen. Something ignited within Sam, a desperateness he'd never felt before and suddenly, he was screaming, much louder than he thought he had the strength to, "Ah, stay away from me, you ugly son of bitch!"

And suddenly, the ropes picked that exact moment to snap, Sam crashing against the cavern floor with no time to brace himself for the-wait…no pain….just numb. And even though he wasn't so sure that was a good thing, Sam didn't have time to contemplate what his next move was because it was reaching again, arm swinging, tall irregular body bending.

Sam closed his eyes. _Sorry Dean._

But then… "HEY!"

And Sam's eyes snapped open because that had to be the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard in his entire existence. And somewhere in him, he found enough energy to roll out of the way just before the Wendigo's body jolted, dark and soulless eyes shocked as it looked down at the blazing, eating flames burrowed in its chest, skin peeling, _burning._

As it fell, crumpling and folding in on itself, Sam took in the sight of his elder sibling standing, arm outstretched, smoking flare in hand. Blood was plastered to the side of his face, fiery green orbs burning with a familiar anger reserved for all things that even looked at Sam the wrong way. Sweet relief flooded through Sam, _Dean's here,_ and didn't that just sound so fitting? So right?

A small smile tugged at the edge of bloodless lips…and then everything blurred, the smell of burnt flesh meeting his nose, and the numb, cold feeling at last reaching his head.

As darkness wrapped itself around Sam, buzzing in his ears, he thought he heard the distant, desperate pleading of his older brother's screaming voice.


	10. Chapter 10

**So, my darling readers, prepare yourself for a giant angst fest this chapter and even bigger helping of hurt Sam *wink*. And you are going to hate me…just a pre-warning. *evil grin*. Thank you all reviewers! You know I love you lol and you are the reason I'm compelled to keep the updates coming. And thank you if you added this to alert or as a favorite story! Here's chapter ten, happy reading!**

** -Punkin**

Dean slammed to his knees beside his fallen brother, heart frozen in sheer terror. "No no no no no no…" repeated in a desperate mantra.

His shaking, calloused hands sought for a pulse, tenderly turning his brother until he lay on his back. Holding his breath…Dean waited, _please please please…_

And there it was…the familiar thrum beneath his fingertips, however weak and unsteady. Dean let out a short laugh of relief, fingers brushing at much too long chocolate locks, "That's my boy, Sammy."

But relief soon sucked itself deep down into a dark void, air pausing in his chest because _holy shit…that's a lot of blood!_ And even though his fingers were already clumsily pulling at his shirt, Dean couldn't move fast enough. _Should have gotten here sooner…this shouldn't have happened at all! All my damn fault…_

Hesitating with the clothing bunched tightly in his grip, Dean allowed a quick evaluation. He swallowed…eye lids fluttering close, _Jesus that's deep._ But he shook his head because he didn't have time for this…Sam needed help…like NOW. Whispering a quick apology to his unconscious sibling, he pressed down, because if the sickly shade to Sam's skin and his soaked jeans told Dean anything, it was that his little brother couldn't afford to lose one more drop.

The pressure on his abdomen must have been enough to arouse Sam, because curled fingers twitched and blue tinged eye lids moved to reveal slits of swirling, vibrant hazel. "Sam? Sammy? Hey, talk to me, man."

Eye brows furrowed, confused frightened eyes flickering across Dean's eager, desperate face. Dean could feel warmth at the tips of his fingers and he abruptly increased the pressure he was exerting against Sam's middle, the ring on his right hand sliding on now slick skin, his stomach rebelling at the heavy taste of blood in the air. And all he could think was that they'd already run out of time they didn't have.

Sam made a keening noise in the back of his throat following Dean's movement, choking on the same air his lungs greedily pulled in. "Dea-?"

But Dean couldn't do this. Couldn't handle this. Couldn't…just _couldn't._ And he was lucky he stopped the sob at all. "Yeah, Sammy, it's me…just take it easy."

Hazel orbs brimming with pain cleared a little at the sound of his voice, dirt covered fingers brushing against the leg of his jeans, as if searching for something to hold on to. And if his own hands hadn't been too busy trying to literally hold his little brother together, than he would have gladly provided the comfort.

His eyes sought over the rest of Sam's body, searching for more injury, discovering wrists shredded and raw. Though only superficial wounds, Dean's heart skipped a beat, picturing Sam hanging from the ceiling, struggling to free himself, alone, cold and bleeding while waiting for an older brother he wasn't sure would be able to get there in time. "Knew…you'd come." It was so quiet, Dean almost didn't hear him.

But when he glanced up to find a still relatively aware gaze, a deep sadness gripped his heart, icy tendrils creeping through his veins and encompassing him. Even after the way Dean had been treating him of late, after all the crap he'd put up with, Sam had still trusted Dean to save him, to be there when he was needed.

"Shoulder…" Sam continued, dark eye lashes flickering and brushing away tears he couldn't hide from his older brother.

And when Dean finally remembered how to respond, he realized there was a dark trickle in the dirt beneath his younger sibling. As carefully as he could, he tilted him up, the dim lighting of the cavern making it difficult to see…but it was enough. "Damn it, Sam."

The scratches were not nearly as deep as the others…but they'd bled a lot already and would most certainly need stitches. "S-sorry." Another hoarse whisper and Dean began to wonder how his little brother was managing to speak at all.

This thought had him in another bout of panic. They were stuck in the middle of nowhere, his cell phone didn't work, and the only person who did know where they were had been told to 'leave them the hell alone' even though he'd been right all along. He grasped the side of Sam's face, tilting his head when it lolled slightly, "You've got nothing to be sorry for, Sammy, ok? You're going to be fine…you're going to be fine."

And when his own voice rang back in his ears, he could've sworn that he used to be a far better liar. Because Sam was bleeding out…and there was nothing more that Dean could do. The Impala was miles away…a hospital even farther…and Sam just didn't have that kind of time.

Suddenly, a feather light touch brushed his arm, a sad, resigned face hidden beneath dark bangs staring up at him. _Why's my face wet?_

Oops…

And here Dean had been thinking he'd been keeping the tears under control. But he just didn't care anymore. "May 17th, 2000."

Dean blinked, the warmth still sliding over his fingers, the hollow 'splat' of salt water falling against old leather. "What?"

Sam continued to stare up at Dean, his hand sliding to rest back against the ground again as if he didn't have the strength to lift it for a second time. A small smile tugged at the edge of Sam's lips, and all Dean really wanted to do was scream…scream because this was so unfair. "Remember?" His little brother persisted, "You let me borrow the car to go on that stupid date," A small gasp, soft coughing…Dean still helpless, "But-but then you…called, completely wasted, and asked if I could pick you up at some random chick's house." Sam smiled again, "And then…whe-when I pulled up, that-that giant dog ran out in front of me…and I-I swerved and hit the mailbox."

Dean's left hand hovered desperately over Sam, at a total loss, _Sam, god damn, stop talking. You're fucking DYING._ But his little brother needed this…and he was going to give it to him.

"And remember what you said, Dean?" Those giant eyes again…that look that had made Dean melt and bend like rubber their entire lives.

Something trickled off the tip of his nose, teeth clenching and throat tightening. His brushed again at Sam's face, pushing at hair that refused to cooperate. "Yeah, Sammy…I-I told you that I'd always trust you…no matter what." Something else deep within him broke then, cracking and dying because this was all so wrong. _No no no no no no no…_ "God, Sammy…I'm so sorry…"

"I just wanted to say that I'm…I'm sorry that that cha-changed…that I made you-you thin-think that I wou-wouldn't have you're back."

But Dean was shaking his head, lip trembling as Sam struggled for a proper breath, eye lids half closed even as Dean pushed even harder against his wound. "It didn't change, Sammy."

And there was the conviction he'd been lacking for so long now.

Arms shaking, eyes wet, "I trust you, you-you were right about everything man. I-I should've listened, but I…" His vision blurred, "Why'd you do it, Sam? Why'd you push me out of the way? Why did you-" But Dean had to stop because the words caught in his throat, coming out as a garbled, distorted sob.

And there was that half smile again…even as his little brother couldn't even pull in air anymore…even as the heartbeat beneath Dean's finger tips seemed to fade altogether. "Cause', Dean."

Then vibrant, hazel slits slowly disappeared…

**Yes, yes, I know…I'm just so evil…but I can live with that. hehe**


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm sorry…I really don't mean to leave such infuriating cliffhangers *evil grin*. Okay, maybe I do. Thank you so much, reviewers! I smile so big while I'm reading them that my friend literally was grabbing my phone from my hands, not believing me when I told her I was just reading reviews *smile*. Anyway, sorry for the sad ending last chapter…I do believe someone said it was illegal *wink*. But I'll make it right, promise! Happy reading!**

** -Punkin**

Sam was floating…weightless…completely and utterly empty. Everything was just…numb.

Nothing.

No sound, no light…darkness eating and wrapping around him like giant wings, pressing down with an ominous force meant to crush. But it was kind of nice…mindless. Because the last thing he could remember were blood stained hands, tear filled green eyes, and heart breaking begging.

And somewhere within himself, he'd been okay with that. Because even though it was all fuzzy, awareness fading in and out, he'd heard the words leave his older brothers mouth.

_"I trust you, Sam…"_

And wasn't that enough? Hadn't that always been enough? Because once those words had met his ears…he was okay. Most certainly not in a physical sense, he saw that much in Dean's eyes. He'd read the man his entire life, and the moment he'd awakened to his familiar nickname the unbreakable shields that had been up for so many months now had been completely gone.

Poof.

Disappeared…and he'd had his big brother back, albeit only for a short while…but he could live with that…or die with that?

Which brought about a good question. _Where am I? Am I dead?_

It wouldn't be the first time…but an eating, gnawing pit inside told him it'd be the last. And if that kept him from being Lucifer's puppet, then he didn't mind. After all, Dean would be okay. He was stronger…could move on.

_We've been kidding ourselves for awhile now anyways…_Because they weren't the same people they had been growing up…weren't the same brothers brought together again that fateful night at Stanford…just _weren't_.

They'd both grown in their own ways, relied more on themselves on multiple occasions, and tackled inner demons that just couldn't stay locked away anymore. They'd believed in lies and refused the truth many times, they'd been pushed and tested, and they'd both still seen each other for what they really were.

So Dean would be okay, Sam was certain…ish.

But what planted the seed of doubt was the fact that he'd been staring up into his elder sibling's familiar face, twisted in grief and wet with tears right before everything had gone black, and he'd recognized that look. The same look that he'd faced for four months when in front of a mirror. The look that said 'just because you're leaving doesn't mean I'm going to let you go."

Suddenly, an echo vibrated around Sam, weightlessness dropping, like he was in water, flipping and turning as feeling seemed to slowly ebb its way back into his nonexistent body. Warmth tickled at his finger tips _hey…I can move those!_

And then he could feel himself breathing, air burning in lungs hesitant to cooperate, something pulling with the increased force on his stomach. And finally…sound, sweet beautiful voices.

Sam frowned…_arguing voices._

"You're damn right, boy! What'd I tell you, huh? What'd I tell you!" Bobby…such an unforgettable accent. But the anger in it didn't register, because Sam was alive. He'd been so sure…but he was alive!

Someone else was talking then, a cracking, muffled voice, and Sam didn't have to distinguish the words to hear the undisputable pain melting and blending with the tones. Tones that held no fight in them..._Dean!_

And then Sam was desperately trying to claw his way free from the rest of the darkness, the same darkness that seemed to want to drown him, latching onto his ankles and pulling pulling pulling. _Come on, Sam, wake up!_

"…lucky Castiel even got there when he did, Dean!" A pause…more muffled voices, then a quick rise, the sound of something slamming to the floor. "Well that's nice, Dean! I'm so glad you're sorry now that you're little brother had to literally throw himself at a Wendigo for you to get your head out of your ass!"

Finally, it seemed, Sam managed to move his hand, soft fabric sliding against tingling skin, breath increasing just because it felt good to _breathe._ The air was so familiar, the dusty, heavy atmosphere of Bobby's house. The only home they'd ever really known.

And then he was losing again in the face of the determined black void. But when he heard the rapidly and continuing angry barking of his surrogate uncle, Sam gave in, because why wake up now and interrupt a man on a rampage?

11.11.11

_1, 436…1, 437…1,438…1, 439…_

Dean's hand rested on Sam's chest, forehead lying on the arm he had resting on the bed beside his little brother. He'd been sitting there for what seemed like forever, just counting each and every time Sam took a breath. _1, 440…_

Sometimes he lost count, eyes drooping lazily as he struggled to stay awake and keep vigil, but he'd just start over again, drawing in comfort from the mere fact that his little brother was simply pulling in air by himself. His throat tightened, eyes burning at the memory of Sam's heart stopping beneath his own touch…screaming, _begging, _because that wasn't how it was supposed to happen. That wasn't how it was supposed to be. Sam couldn't die…he just couldn't.

But even as he'd muttered those exact phrases…nothing words…while cradling only an empty shell, there had been a recognizable swoosh of wings, icy blue eyes wide and imploring.

_Flash…"Move out of the way, Dean."_

Castiel…currently standing in the corner of the room, hands clasped behind his back while staring out the window at the junkyard like it was the most fascinating thing ever. And god damn it, Dean owed him everything. Because even after they'd been safely angel zapped to Bobby's, Sam's heart beating once more, the angel had admitted that he wasn't 'technically' allowed to do what he'd already done.

_Flash… "But I've come to realize that you don't much care for technicalities, so I thought it best to omit a pre explanation."_

And god…hadn't that just made Dean grin like an idiot? Because Sam was alive…Sam was breathing…and not even Bobby's hour long 'make Dean feel like shit' session couldn't dampen that. Boy, that man hadn't held back…Dean didn't think he'd ever seen him angrier. Not even in the events leading up to Lucifer, Bobby being the only person to shake the least bit of sense into him then.

If only he'd listened this time…

"Dean, you should really get some sleep." Was it possible to sneak up on someone when you're in a wheel chair?

Dean jumped, head shooting upward to discover the older man wheeling towards him, pushing at the familiar cap on top of his head.

He shook his head, swallowing as he realized he'd lost count around 1, 521 breaths, but startlingly okay with the fact that he'd just have to start over again. "I'll get some sleep once Sam wakes up and I know he's okay."

Bobby hesitated, mouth opening slightly as if he were going to protest, but he must have seen the stone hard determination Dean knew he had on his face and instead he just sighed, nodding.

"Sam should be fine, Dean. We've all done what we could and he has been stable for more than twenty four hours, so I see no reason why you too can not get some rest." Castiel had turned away from the window, trench coat shuffling, dark eye brows deep against bright blue emeralds.

And Dean was going to argue…he was, because he'd been sitting and sitting and sitting next to an unconscious baby brother who he really _really _needed to have a long conversation with, who he really needed to apologize to, who he really needed to see open those stupid annoying puppy dog eyes, who he really needed to just be awake because _damn it, I can't do this without you, Sammy. Never could and never will be able to…_

But before he could tell the angel anything, Sam stirred on the bed, arm sliding against Dean's. It seemed like everything in the room froze as Dean shot to his feet, the chair he'd been sitting on crashing to the floor. "Sam? Sammy? Hey, you awake?"

And there those eyes were…the ones he'd been praying for. The small slits of hazel brought the cold, gut wrenching memory of the last time he'd looked down into those same eyes in the same way, warm life running through his fingers and draining away…

Recognition sparked then, distant and small as his younger sibling struggled, muttering unintelligibly. Dean frowned, hands moving to grasp Sam's face. _Shit!_

"Dean what is it?"

Then he was looking up in frantic fear, because even though he thought it couldn't get any worse, it just did, "Bobby, he's got a fever."

**Shame on you people, did you really think I'd actually kill Sammy? Woo haha *grin***


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello everybody! Guess what? LAST CHAPTER! Yay…I hope it doesn't disappoint my awesome readers *wink*! Thanks so much reviewers, you know I love you. Although personal replies were few for the last chapter because I've been SO busy lol. But I thank everyone dearly! It's been fun! But I'll be writing again soon, so no worries. Anyways, here it is! Happy reading!**

**-Punkin**

Sam couldn't decide if he was hot or cold. Everything was just…mixed together. Light and dark, sound and smell, colors swirling and swirling behind eye lids he wasn't sure were open or closed. He could hear frantic voices, ice creeping across his skin, hands on his face, arms, and chest.

But it didn't make sense.

Nothing made sense. _Where am I again?_

Bobby's! He was at Bobby's because he'd thought he was dead, but he wasn't. _Why is that again?_ Flashes of the hunt flitted through his mind, memories of claws swiping…of Dean yelling…of ropes snapping.

But he wasn't even sure if that had actually happened. It was obvious he was sick…or delirious…or _something! _So what was real? And what wasn't real?

"Sam? Sammy? You've got to calm down, man!"

_Dean!_

But the voice was distant, echoing and bouncing in a surreal manner. More ice pressed against his forehead, shivers racking down his frame, leaving goose bumps in their wake. And then color seemed to blur into an actual face. A face mere inches from his own, scruffy, worn, and desperate.

But it was all off…abdomen burning in a way that distracted all attention from anything else. Ringing strummed inside his ears, fading with each breath pulled into rattling, greedy lungs. But sound worked its way through, distorting and buzzing like a swarm of angry bees.

He'd never particularly liked bees. _Wow…I really am delirious._

"Cas, hold this!" A moment's pause, "Now!"

_Castiel?_

Then that familiar and deep voice, forever monotonous to those who heard it, but so intense it was compelling. "Dean…" was that hesitation? "Perhaps-"

"Look, if there's nothing you can do to help Sam than I really don't want to hear it! Now move your angel ass!" And even in the half conscious, feverish state he was in, Sam could still tell when his older brother used his 'end of argument' tone. But it was so _Dean_ that it made him want to laugh, because he hadn't heard those words directed at anyone other than himself for weeks.

But the ice was back again, sound fading once more, his name said maybe a few more times. He couldn't answer though, words catching with air that seemed determined to elude him. And then he was hot again, heat scorching, spreading and flowing through veins and blood he could swear he actually felt pumping.

"-ammy? Hey, come on, Sam?" He could hear cursing, wheels scratching on worn wood, and the softer, calmer tones of Bobby's comforting.

But Dean apparently wasn't having any of it, "Cas! Hurry up with the ice!" And then mumbles of something a lot like 'of all the times for an angel to be fucking slow.'

But Sam was drifting…floating again…because he still couldn't decide if he was dreaming or not…if he was seeing or not. And really, why did everyone seem so upset? He was just tired…so very tired.

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't had a fitful night's rest in years, or that he hadn't eaten properly in a while, or maybe it was just that he felt like shit. But Sam was cold again…and hot again, so the only thing he _could _decide was that he was entirely exhausted…

12.12.12

The fever broke at exactly 3: 27 A.M. the next morning. Bobby knew because Dean had been practically glued to his little brother's side since they'd crashed onto his living room floor in a giant tangle of arms and legs, blood and dirt.

God he'd been pissed.

Because this shouldn't have happened…and could have been so easily prevented! But one look into Dean Winchesters dulled, grief brimmed eyes and Bobby hadn't the heart to prolong his boiling anger, and was merely grateful Castiel had found them in time.

Because he'd never seen Dean this upset…not since cold oak.

And if Bobby thought that the moment he'd approached those two boys on that muddy, godforsaken street had been the one occasion he'd seen Dean so completely broken, then he was wrong.

Because when his vision had cleared, Castiel's steady hands keeping him planted safely in his chair, the sight that greeted him was all tears and sobs, frantic fingers searching for a pulse and pushing over and over again at brown bangs.

_Flash… "I'm s-sorry! Sorry…"_

And Bobby still wasn't sure who exactly the poor man had been apologizing to.

Maybe no one.

Maybe everyone.

Because if anyone shouldered as much blame as they possibly could, it was Dean Winchester, who always seemed to remain standing under even the heaviest weight.

But this…well this had brought him to his knees. And Bobby wouldn't make it worse, because Dean's eyes appeared to be open again, appeared to be seeing what was right in front of him again!

_Pointin' more fingers ain't gonna help nobody right now._

Besides, Dean had taken charge. Bobby was all too happy giving the steering wheel back to him because that man was good at his job, being a big brother. And even though days looked darker and darker, forces beyond their control still pushing and pulling at them, Bobby knew that that would never change.

Because Dean hadn't looked up from that bed for hours. And while Castiel still seemed at a loss with how to handle such an emotional situation, all it made Bobby want to do was smile.

"Dean?"

And movement…beautiful movement for the first time in forever. And Bobby could suddenly exhale again, not realizing he'd been holding his breath for so long

The older Winchester was on his feet and leaning over in an instant, amulet dangling from his neck to hover centimeters above Sam's collar bone, eyes searching for awareness that had been fleeting the younger man in his fever riddled state. But Sam was already smiling, tired eyes focusing with clarity.

"Hey man…it's about time. How are you feeling?" And years of experience made Bobby able to identify the undertones of 'thank god you're awake.' He knew Sam heard it as well because the smile only got bigger.

"Like I got mauled by a Wendigo." Sam swallowed, struggling to sit up, "How long have I been out?"

But Dean was frantically pushing him back down, "Whoa, I don't think so, you are NOT ruining all our hard work."

Sam sighed, blinking harshly as if it disagreed with him to have his eyes open for so long. Bobby frowned, noting the sheen of sweat on his forehead. "You didn't answer me."

Dean's hand hovered on his little brother's shoulder; as if afraid the man would disappear under his very touch. Bobby's stomach twisted sickeningly as that had very nearly been the truth…

"It's been about two days; you've been kind of in and out of it." Dean's voice lingered just above a whisper, eyes dropping guiltily to the floor as he slowly sat down, as if steeling himself for the conversation ahead.

And Bobby urged the boys with his mind…because he just hated elephants in the room. And Sam needed this…_Dean_ needed this. "Look, Sammy…we need to talk."

His eyes took in the way Sam nervously swallowed, jaw line tightening as his fingers brushed across his bandaged stomach. And suddenly, Bobby felt like he wasn't even there, merely an observer of events he had no business dabbling in.

But god damn it, he wasn't going to miss this.

"I-I know I've been an ass." _Understatement…_but Bobby obediently remained silent, fingers gripping tightly on the arms of his wheel chair. Dean shook his head, "I'm just…I'm sorry Sammy. I'm so sorry for not listening to you…for not trusting you when you deserved to be trusted…for not-are you laughing at me?"

And Sam indeed was, Bobby staring in confused amusement as he watched the boy try to stifle his chuckles beneath quite coughs without much success. Dean's mouth gaped for a moment, much like a fish, in evident disbelief, dark eyes flickering somewhere between anger and bafflement.

"I-uh-I'm sorry dude, but you suck at apologies." Wide, hazel eyes gazed upward at his older brother, something shining there that Bobby hadn't seen in quiet awhile. Traces of happiness. Happiness from a soul who not hours before had been thrashing in the throes of fevered delirium, nonsense words spilling from his mouth.

And then Bobby was smiling too, because he saw Sam's interruption for what it was. That man had already forgiven his brother and now was readily taking some of the load off Dean's shoulders by making it easier for him.

Understanding seemed to dawn on Dean's face, mouth snapping shut at his little brother's antics and feet beneath him as he pushed up from his chair, "Fine then, that is the LAST time you'll ever hear me say 'I' and 'sorry' and 'Sam' in the same sentence ever again."

But Sam's eye lids were fluttering, lips turning at the edges as he seemed to sink back against the bed, _poor kid, can't even stay awake to witness his brother throw a fit._ "Sure, Dean…I'll keep that in mind." Voice drifting…softening…fading.

Dean ran a hand still crusted with blood through his disheveled hair, green orbs relentlessly burning, "Oh, you go right ahead and…hey! Don't you dare close your eyes on me! Sam!"

But Sam apparently wasn't listening, breathing evening out as curled fingers opened, white palms facing the ceiling. And then Bobby was snickering, for the first time making his presence really known in the room, Dean's furious gaze boring into him from where he still stood beside his sleeping brother, shocked.

Bobby made no effort to disguise his laughter, simply smiling from under the visor of his hat up at the stunned man. "Can you blame him, Dean? You were practically putting me to sleep too."

For a few more moments he remained motionless, green eyes unseeing, and then slowly, ever so slowly, a smile crept across stoic features, brow line softening as white teeth shone against the steadily growing beard.

And for the first time in awhile, Bobby felt that things would be alright. They were a long ways from being in the least terms 'okay', but they all were pointed in the right direction and he knew they eventually would be. Because Sam was sleeping, Dean was smiling, and didn't that just sound normal?

The sound of Castiel's voice drifting from the open doorway, however, interrupted them, both pairs of eyes shooting over to discover the angel standing with a puzzled blue gaze, "Did I miss something important?"

**The End!**

**There it is…always fun to end on a humorous note haha! I just love Castiel *huge, annoying smile***


End file.
